


Video Kid

by Rumiflan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Guns, Money, Murder, Video Game Mechanics, console
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-08 00:36:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12852933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumiflan/pseuds/Rumiflan
Summary: A video game fan meets a quiet boy and tries his best to help him out. What will THAT lead to, though?





	1. Video Kid

"Matty, dinner's ready!" a woman's voice came from the kitchen, distracting her son from the screen. At that moment a green mutant ran up to his character. Mat's eyes widened, but he quickly regained control over the situation.  
  
"Coming!" he replied, switching to a sticky grenade launcher. He ran out of bullets for his AK-47, so betting on that horse would be like claiming to be a Creed fan in today's society.  
  
After getting awarded with a black ball of death, the enemy froze for just one second before letting out an angry roar and exploding into chunks of red-and-green meat. The moment pieces of the dead body became separated from each other filled Mat with glee. And then some of them hit the ground, while others flew in the air, splattering blood over the screen. A portion of dopamine punched Mat's brain. He felt like an atomic mushroom, only without a sound reaching its target audience.  
  
Mat didn't want to scare his mother, so he took a deep breath to contain himself, slowly exhaled, and put the game on a pause. Upon saving his progress, he turned the console off and hid it in a box under his bed like usual. The feeling of power became just tame enough to be kept inside, but not enough to ignore it altogether.  
  
Once Mat made sure nothing could indicate what he was doing, he opened the door, leaving his personal heaven and entering the real world. That didn't seem to bother him though, for he knew he would come back there when he got a chance and felt the need for it. For now, however, that wasn't necessary.  
  
"Eat up, my boy. Today I have a roasted vegetable pasta just for you." Mat's mother was standing near the table. A pale blue baggy t-shirt combined with her chubby cheeks and gray pants was giving off a look of innocence and casualness.  
  
The plate with his meal stood in the middle of the right side of it, kinda close to the edge.  
  
"Sweet!" Mat walked up to the table and took a seat, ready to consume today's portion. She fed him this particular dish once a day, and strictly as a dinner.  
  
He took in a fork of the pasta, and turned his head up, squinting in an attempt to get the most out of it.  
  
"Well, did I do good today?" his mother placed her hands together as if about to pray, and closed her right eye.  
  
"Uh-huh!" Mat nodded in approval, his mouth too full of food for him to even consider using words.  
  
"Thank goodness... I mean, of course I did!" she assumed a proud pose that only made her look silly. Fortunately, Mat wasn't looking at her, otherwise he would start laughing, and his meal would go down the wrong way.  
  
* * *  
  
It took him a while to finish it off, given how delicious it was, but finally, he ate his dinner, and rinsed his mouth with a glass of water. "Thank you for dinner! I had a great time with this dish!"  
  
Mat's mother bent her head right, smiling at him. "Anytime, sweetie." Before she knew it, their telephone began to ring, causing muscles of her otherwise relaxed hands to freeze. "Coming!"  
  
She walked up to the device attached to the wall near the front door. She casually grabbed the handset. "Yes?"  
  
Mat hid behind the wall, peering at her out of the door frame. He learned to do that from stealth titles such as Metal Gear Solid and Deus Ex: Human Revolution, even though it wasn't all that necessary in those games due to their third person nature. He realized its effectiveness from his own experience, since people always look at the events around them from the first person perspective.  
  
Mat watched as his mother's face slowly turned from happy to somewhat grim and doubtful. At last, the conversation was over, and she put the handset back in disgust. She looked like a news reporter who tried to warn people of supernatural, and only got them to laugh and flip her a bird.  
  
"Mom, is everything alright?" for some reason, Mat always expected an explanation, even though he knew he wouldn't get it. She didn't want to involve her son in her affairs.  
  
She walked past him, looking tired and disappointed. "Y-yeah, don't worry, mommy's fine. So... what did Mrs. Marchi assign today?"  
  
Mat smiled faintly. Seems like the sudden change of subject didn't bother him. "Reforms during Perestroika in the USSR."  
  
"Well, aren't you happy? I thought you liked that subject."  
  
"I do. The whole history of the Soviet Union is a blast, honestly." Saying the word 'blast' always made Mat feel awkward, even though his mother wasn't prejudiced towards the typical teen vocabulary.  
  
"Well, what are you waiting for? Go for it! Show those commies who's the boss!" these attempts to sound like a badass mentor always ended up looking silly, but Mat didn't want to laugh at his own mother. He was afraid it would hurt her feelings.  
  
"I will!" he ran towards the chalk-white door of his room, quickly turned the doorknob, and hid in his personal world just as fast.  
  
* * *  
  
(BS entered the chat)  
  
BS: Good evening, everyone!  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: evenin, Mister B.I.G.~  
  
Lady_M: Hiiii~  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: guyz, check this out. I heard this bitch tried to shove her fist down their throats again  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: guess what? they shoved it up her ass instead!  
  
Asami Yamazaki: what a surprise!  
  
Lady_M: Oh god, not this again...  
  
BS: Well, she's a determined one, that's for sure.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: she needs to realize the ups are on our side. they ain't gonna pull the plug just cause a bunch of dipshits believes it's gonna help. it's not, by the way  
  
Lady_M: I still don't get how Mat puts up with this...?  
  
BS: Well, he's not the kind to break easily. Melvin trained both of us, so I know.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: did our Napoleon make him do one hundred push-ups each time he fucked up?  
  
BS: Hehehe~ Not really~  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: laaaaaaame  
  
Lady_M: XD  
  
Lady_M: Anyway, will he show up today?  
  
BS: I don't think so. He's probably busy kicking the homework. He's got a huge report on Perestroika. It's due tomorrow, which means he's stuck until lights out.  
  
Lady_M: I see... well, it's alright. Real life does come first, after all. I just hoped we would have some fun together.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: you know, sometimes less is more. I think a three-way is no worse than a party  
  
BS: Goddangit, Carol! XD  
  
Lady_M: Come on, did you really have to...? =.=;  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: eh, just felt like messin with ya, kid~  
  
Lady_M: Stop calling me a kid! I'm just a year younger than you!  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: did ya know a year is considered an eternity these days?  
  
Lady_M: . . .  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: fine, fine, sorry. damn, I hate ellipses, especially when you're the one usin them~  
  
Lady_M: Sigh...  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: eh, fuhgeddaboudit.  
  
BS: Sooooo... anyone up to discuss that documentary on psychology of gamers?  
  
* * *  
  
Walking down the road towards Greenfield High School, Matthew Mathers already saw the smile on Miss Marchi's face. He was one of her favorites for always turning papers in at the right time. Hoping to brighten her day yet again, he sped up. Two boys looking younger than him appeared near his sides and rushed forward on their skateboards, paralyzing him. One of them was singing "Livin' It Up" by Limp Bizkit, and that alone begged for a question whether the guy picked the right role model.  
  
Sighing, Mat resumed his walk, but stopped again. This time it was because of a boy that appeared younger than him. He looked neat like a sentient illustration of a fashion magazine. He was dressed in a black jacketless business suit that would be more fitting for a graduation ceremony than an average day in a classroom.  
  
He was sitting on a bench of a buss stop, staring into the gray concrete under Mat's feet. The pretty boy looked hypnotized, almost as if watching a growing flower or a sleeping cat.  
  
"Hey there, buddy. What's up?" Mat walked up to him, breaking the spell in one moment.  
  
"Hi. Sorry, but I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." The young man on the bench didn't even bother to look at his potential conversation partner. A mixture of happiness and fear, his voice rubbed Mat the wrong way.  
  
"Well, if you go quiet on me, we're going to remain strangers, don't you think?" he hid his hands in the pockets of his brown pants. "I'm Matthew Mathers, or Mat for short."  
  
The pretty boy turned his vision up. A serene smile on his face quickly turned into a look of a cornered rodent as he started to inspect Mat. The latter suddenly remembered the last time he looked in the mirror: messy shoulder-length hair, white shirt and black pants must've made him look like John Bender from The Breakfast Club, which wasn't good.  
  
"I know what you're thinking. That I'm one of those pretty bastards that eat withdrawn kids for breakfast, right? Well, you can try and search for weapons hidden in my clothes." Mat put his hands up as if he was being apprehended by the cops. This seemed to work: the boy in the suit got off the bench, and started walking towards him, making single step by single step.  
  
Finally, he reached Mat, and indeed began to check him out. The young Mathers imagined the boy in front of him as a child curiously examining something he's never seen before. The little guy touched him in various places, once coming pretty close to his balls. Surprisingly, Mat didn't feel embarrassed, and wouldn't, even if their actions attracted public.  
  
Having found no guns or knives, the boy stopped. For a minute he stood perfectly still, staring at Mat. Not wanting to scare him, the young Mathers held his breath.  
  
"It seems that... you were right," a frail whisper of relief broke the silence, causing Mat to exhale.  
  
"So..." he placed his hand on his chest, breathing like a jogger after a work out, "what's your name?"  
  
The young guy dropped the frown in favor of a light smile. "Dylan... Dylan Harris."  
  
"There we go." Mat let his hands loose, thankful for getting to know who he was talking to. "Tell me, Dylan. Shouldn't we hurry up and get to school? What were you waiting for, anyway?"  
  
"Nothing, really. I was just thinking about..." Dylan quickly turned his vision down. "N-no, forget it. It wasn't anything special, anyway. Let's go."  
  
And then he started to run. Feeling the need for an explanation chewing him up, Mat decided to follow his new acquaintance. At the same time, the young Mathers was afraid of not getting to the school building in time. That proved to be pointless, however, as he quickly noticed the similarities between his usual route and the path Dylan was running.  
  
* * *  
  
"Here's the paper you asked me to write. Thank you for an interesting exercise, Miss Marchi." Mat was the first to turn his work in when Miss Marchi spoke to everyone in the class. Despite always getting things done ahead of the deadline, he had a strange habit of expecting himself to be late. Even though he made it yet again, he knew it wouldn't change that.  
  
"Good job, Mathers. Now sit down." Miss Marchi sounded neutral to prevent others from envying Mat. However, he recognized a note of satisfaction in her voice. It seemed that out of all students, only he could do that, having known her personally for around a year.  
  
Back then he wasn't much of a fan of history. He didn't despise that subject, but wasn't particularly interested in it either. He used to make mistakes like getting dates or names wrong, and that usually costed him a handful of points on exams. Fed up with it, he met up with Miss Marchi and asked her for a few extra lessons. Respecting his decision, she agreed.  
  
She helped Mat to immerse himself in the world of the past, all thanks to a game she made out of her living room. She decorated it with posters and pictures dedicated to an era at hand, and then conducted a quiz about it. Mat felt like he was in the Soviet Union thanks to the propaganda posters and portraits of personalities such as Lenin, Khrushchev, Brezhnev and even Stalin. This allowed him to get almost everything right, leading to him falling in love with the subject.  
  
Unfortunately, due to the strict standards and atmosphere of Greenfield High, Miss Marchi wasn't allowed to do the same in the classroom. She tried to explain the effectiveness of her methods, but those claims fell on deaf ears, so she eventually gave up altogether. She wasn't sad, however, as people like the young Mathers knew her ways of educating people worked.  
  
* * *  
  
"...and then I obliterated their whole team! I honestly thought War Thunder would wear off a few seconds earlier, but then it didn't!" Sam Oxley spread his arms with a huge grin on his face. "Thank you for that Sleeping Chronos, Molly."  
  
"Heh, you know me. Never liked hyperactive types who can't slow down and consider things carefully." The young Mosier rose her head up and closed her eyes, amusing him, Stan and Mat with her "I'm surrounded by ignorant fools" pose.  
  
Mat lowered his head, still chuckling. "Too bad I didn't get to join you. Was busy kicking a Death Elemental's ass."  
  
"It's alright, really. If you didn't kill it, it would destroy ME." Molly pointed at herself with her thumbs, widening her own eyes in an attempt to look silly.  
  
Stan stared Mat right in the eyes, looking amusingly serious. "She's right, Mat. We all played our roles, and that's exactly why we won."  
  
"Very well then." The young Mathers accidentally turned his vision away from his friend, and saw Dylan at a lonely desk. Immersed so deep in the process of eating, he didn't even notice his acquaintance staring at him. He looked quite happy, too, from which Mat concluded his parents weren't feeding him too well.  
  
"Mat? What's wrong?" Stan earned his friend's attention back.  
  
"Okay..." Mat chewed the hell out of his cutlet, swallowed it, and drank an entire glass of water. He then looked Stan right in the eyes, just like the latter did a few seconds before. His lips moved slowly. His voice felt like it belonged to a captain, albeit a worried one. "Stan, I want you, and only you, to turn around. Don't wanna scare that little guy."  
  
"Hmm... alright?" Stan placed his legs at the right side of his seat just so he could move his vision in the right direction, being unable to spin his head 180° around its vertical axis. Molly and Sam were sitting at the table in silence, looking as if they were awaiting instructions from their friend.  
  
Stan saw Dylan still eating his lunch. He wasn't paying attention to the four of them. Eyes closed, a wide smile decorating his face, he ate like the whole world belonged to him, so there was no need to rush.  
  
"So? A third-grader like the rest of us is enjoying his meal. So what?" Mat's friend assumed his previous position.  
  
"Well..." the young Mathers swallowed another cutlet. "The thing is, I met that guy at a bus stop. I'm not sure why, but I have this biting feeling that he's got a problem. Being an introvert, he's obviously going to hide it from a large group, so for now it's best that only I speak to him. And I want you guys to keep quiet if you notice me around him. Should any of you contact him at that moment, he'll realize that I talked, and will probably decide to stay away from me, or worse, disappear."  
  
"Can't say I'd blame him. I used to be like that as well. All cowardly, trying to avoid opening up, too afraid to get hurt, stuff like that." Sam looked at Dylan with half-closed eyes. "Once we were training for a then-upcoming game of basketball, and I got harassed by Patrick Sabbath. He read me a Hannibal Lecture and left me afraid of letting the team down. When I asked to be removed from the match, our teacher demanded an explanation. I gave him none and just ran as far away as I could."  
  
Muscles under Molly's eyebrows hardened, pushing them closer to upper eyelids. "That's horrible..."  
  
Mat nodded like a bobble head dog toy. "Yeah... so... I think you know what to do."  
  
Stan smirked, finally going back to eating his lunch. "Count on us."  
  
A few seconds later his friends did the same thing.  
  
* * *  
  
Dylan finished his meal, stood up and started to walk towards the counter to return his plate so it would experience being used by another student. He left earlier than everyone else, and Mat decided to use that opportunity to find out more about him.  
  
Not saying a single word, he left his seat and went after him. Molly quickly turned her head in his direction, like a surprised citizen reacting to an unknown sound. She looked at him like a maiden watching her husband go to war.  
  
Stan read her face like a piece of flash fiction. "Trust me, he knows what he's doing."  
  
Molly kept looking at that direction, seemingly not worried for her food. "Hope so..."  
  
Mat ran out of the cafeteria and saw Dylan walking down the corridor. However, before the young Mathers had a chance of becoming a stealth action hero like Solid Snake or JC Denton, his acquaintance turned around, looking as serene as back at the bus stop. "Oh... it's you. I thought it was someone else."  
  
This time around Dylan sounded less nervous. Mat smirked, casually walking closer to him. "Someone else? Like the early Judd Nelson?"  
  
Dylan chuckled, no longer afraid of him. The young Mathers then cleared his throat, and went straight to business, "So, where were you going?"  
  
"Well, I..." Dylan stopped. There was a cloud of doubt squeezing his heart like a dog trying to chew on its rubber toy. A light of hope was standing nearby like an angry owner screaming at his pet. Finally, the beast gave up, spat the thing out and let it speak its mind, "I was going to the library to borrow my favorite book."  
  
"You like to read?"  
  
"Pretty much. During lunch breaks I always try my best to deal with my meal before everyone else just so I can sit down in our classroom and read when there's no one around."  
  
"I see. So, what book is it?"  
  
" _Impatiens_ by Kira Paysinger."  
  
The lower eyelid of Mat's right eye rose up. "Oh wow, now that's some eye-opening! And here I thought only girls were interested in that kinda stuff."  
  
Dylan, on the other hand, turned his vision to the bottom right corner of the corridor. "Yeah, I know. That's why I don't tell anyone about it. If the class finds out, they're going to make fun of me."  
  
Mat widened his eyes, placed an index finger to his lips, and smiled deviously. "You can count on me, for the silence is deader than dead!"  
  
Dylan looked sad, even though such a face was supposed to make him laugh. "Thank you, Mathers."  
  
Mat slapped his own face, assuming an expression he'd have after laughing at something inexplicably dumb. "Oh, please, just call me Mat. We're from the same grade, for hell's sake."  
  
Dylan smiled, feeling awkward for not realizing that sooner. "Sure, I'll... do it next time."  
  
The dog inside of his brain got sick, and the owner began to contemplate putting it to sleep.  
  
"Very well then. Oh, almost forgot. What were you doing back at the bus stop?" Mat put his hands to his side, expecting an explanation. He shouldn't have done that, as Dylan looked at the corner of the corridor again. The ill hound stopped whimpering.  
  
"Fine, forget it. In any case, have fun. I'm gonna go finish my lunch off. Hope Sam didn't eat it again. See ya." Mat turned around, waved his index and middle fingers in the air like cool guys do, and started to walk away.  
  
"Bye-bye." Dylan waved his hand, even though the young Mathers couldn't see it, and went back on his way to the library.  
  
* * *  
  
Not many people left the cafeteria while Mat was away. The room was still as full as a pet store, albeit a quiet one. He quickly found his way back to his table.  
  
"Welcome back, Sir Matthew Mathers! We have successfully protected your lunch!" Sam sounded like an announcer without a megaphone.  
  
"Preposterous!" Mat assumed a shocked expression, and Molly let out an unusually loud laugh. Stan followed a few seconds later.  
  
"Well, how did it go with your princess?"  
  
Mat took a seat. "Pretty well... he's beginning to trust me. But it's not enough, not yet. Things like that aren't a matter of a few seconds. You of all people should know that pretty well."  
  
"Come on, dude, you make it sound like a grave matter."  
  
"It might just be," having said that and given his friend a Kubrick Stare, Mat chuckled. "Anyway, I tried to ask what was bothering him back at the bus stop, but now I wish I hadn't. Not gonna rush like that next time."  
  
He felt bad for screwing up, but part of him believed it wasn't a fatal move. He didn't cause Dylan to run away, which was good already. All he needed to do was unraveling the sheets of Dylan's personality slowly, one at a time.  
  
* * *  
  
Mat hated going back home that day. After the school bell rang for the last time, Dylan just went on his way, not paying any attention to him. That was bad. Did the young Mathers' question hurt him that hard? Was he contemplating disappearance?  
  
These questions were flying inside Mat's brain like a bunch of bees. By the time he entered his home, he managed to spray some gas to make them stop stinging, but a good deal proved to be too tough for that stuff.  
  
"Welcome home, sweetie. What happened?" Mrs. Mathers ran up to the door the moment she heard the hinges creak.  
  
"Eh, nothing." Mat removed his shoes, walked up to the table and took a seat at his usual place. "I could use some lentil soup right now."  
  
"Ermm... sure." Mrs. Mathers quickly opened the fridge, took a plate she prepared in advance, and put it in their Panasonic NN-E225M.  
  
Mat clasped his hands on the table, and put his head on them. He was just staring into space when bees inside his brain began to assimilate into a single life form. The resulted creature buzzed loudly, ordering him to speak up. "Erm, Moms?"  
  
Mrs. Mathers turned her vision to her son. "What's the matter?"  
  
At that moment the NN-E225M stopped heating his plate of soup and let out a short signal, but she didn't pay attention to it, fully focused on his face.  
  
"So, on my way to school I met an introverted boy around my age. We talked a couple of times, but when I tried to ask him about his issues, we became distant again. Do you"—Mat put his left hand at the table and showed her the palm of the right one—"have an experience of working with such people? How do I deserve his forgiveness?"  
  
"Well, all you have to do is catch him trying to deal with a problem, and help him with that. The graver the matter, the higher the reward." The woman sounded like a veteran psychologist, even though what she said wasn't that deep.  
  
Still, her tone made Mat feel more confident in himself. He stopped frowning, and at that moment his vision turned to their microwave. "Oh, by the way, my soup's ready."  
  
"Wha—? Oh, of course, right, heheh..." Mrs. Mathers sweated, turning around to pick the plate. "Maybe heat it up a bit more?"  
  
Mat chuckled, feeling the fat insect inside of him dying. "Nah, I want it warm, not hot."  
  
Mrs. Mathers walked up to the table and put the plate with a grainy brown liquid that had pieces of spinach swimming in it. "So that's pretty much it. Just be there for him, and he'll open up."  
  
"Thank you." Mat prepared to get acquainted with his meal.  
  
* * *  
  
Mat was walking down his usual route when he noticed Dylan at the same old bus stop. Dylan's pose mirrored the one he had back when they first met, except this time his face looked petrified. He stared into the concrete, feeling locked in an empty white room and trying to find a way out.  
  
"Sup? You look kinda dead over there. Should I call a funeral service?" The young Mathers tried to act a clown like he did the first time, but that didn't seem to work.  
  
"Go on... I'm definitely dead now. My parents will not like it, trust me." Dylan sounded like he had a ball of fur stuck in his throat.  
  
At that moment Mat's vision fell on a bag located near his feet. "You forgot to do your homework, right?"  
  
Dylan nodded, and looked his soon-to-be friend right in the eyes. "You guessed it. Yesterday I was assigned a long essay on the Industrial Revolution in Europe, but..."  
  
"But you started to procrastinate so hard you're gonna get a good whooping once you enter the building?"  
  
Dylan didn't even try to break the eye contact between the two of them. "Not really. The essay is due tomorrow, so I'd say I still have time. However, the situation is as good as hopeless. I have to write down how things were going, why they were going that way and not the other, and how the Revolution influenced other countries."  
  
"Yeah, sounds like a lot of stuff. But don't worry, I'll help you out. Together we're gonna beat that beast silly." Mat pointed his right thumb at himself, closing his eyes in the process.  
  
"You will? Don't you have a homework yourself?"  
  
"Not really. Matter of fact, yesterday I got some material to deal with, but I finished that bastard off in one evening, so now I just have to turn the corpse in"—the young Mathers put his hands to his sides and looked upper-right—"you know, before it starts rotting."  
  
Dylan couldn't believe his ears. "H-how is that possible?"  
  
"Simple: I log out from all my social media accounts, and remove passwords from my browser's data base. Next I hide the document with them in a drawer, so that I can't log back in quickly. And that's a wrap. All that remains afterwards is me, my pen, a stack of paper, and educational sites."  
  
Dylan's face became a bit less tense. Perhaps he didn't have any social media accounts, so such a method wasn't really an option for him.  
  
"So yeah, no matter what I get today, you can be damn sure I'll deal with it fast. As a rule, I tend to play with my friends afterwards, but today I can use that time to help you instead." Mat offered a handshake, and at that moment one of the doors to Dylan's heart fell under the firepower of his verbal slug. "How about that?"  
  
Dylan looked lower-left like he did during their conversation in the corridor, and drew a mobile phone out of his bag. "I should ask my parents first."  
  
"Go on, though I'm certain they'll respect your will."  
  
Dylan pressed a couple of buttons, and hit the green handset. A voice of a middle-aged man entered his ear. "Hello? What is it, my boy?"  
  
Dylan put the phone to his right ear. "Hi, dad. Listen: I have an essay that is due tomorrow, but I know I won't make it, and... well... I met this boy named Mat Mathers, and he offered me his help with it. I just wanted to know whether—"  
  
"Wait, are you sure he didn't try to bully you or anything?"  
  
"Well"—Dylan chuckled—"he does look like the type, but we talked, and being kind and understanding was all that he did. Please, dad, can I spend some time after school with him? I don't want bad grades."  
  
"Me neither... well, if that's the case, then go ahead. I don't mind."  
  
Dylan kissed his phone. "Really? Thank you so much. I love you, dad."  
  
"I love you too, my boy. Well then, go and get 'em, you two."  
  
The screen turned white, showing the time Dylan spent on the line. He pressed the red handset, plunging the display back into darkness.  
  
While he was talking, Mat started to imitate the beat of Lil Wayne's A Milli with his right foot. "Well?"  
  
"Dad doesn't mind."  
  
"So, we meet after school then?"  
  
Dylan smiled at him, hitting his own inner hound with a flesh-eating disease. "Yep."  
  
* * *  
  
Upon leaving the building, the two of them headed straight to the Mathers residence. They walked at almost the exact same pace, and Dylan couldn't help but feel like Mat was his long lost brother or a close friend. The doors guarding the pretty boy's heart weren't opening in front of the young Mathers. Those things were falling down, either abandoning or taking the hinges with themselves.  
  
* * *  
  
"Welcome home, Matty. I see you brought a friend." Mrs. Mathers placed her hands together, ready to serve the boys some lentil soup.  
  
"Yeah, this is Dylan Harris. I met him at a bus stop. He's got a problem with his essay, so I agreed to help him out." Mat put his right hand on Dylan's shoulder.  
  
"That's good and all, but you shouldn't do that on an empty stomach." The woman stretched out the last word before moving to the fridge. After a while the boys were sitting at the table, their plates waiting to get to know their mouths better.  
  
The second the young Harris sniffed his meal a stream of blood hit his brain. What he felt the next moment was similar to being sexually aroused. His body started to warm up, from head to toe. The feeling of hunger intensified, causing stomach to purr like a well-patted cat.  
  
"Heh, I take it you've never tried soup before?" Such a reaction amused Mat greatly, but Dylan didn't mind it. At that moment he felt like if someone was to laugh at him for being so out of touch with food, he wouldn't cry.  
  
"Y-yes, that's true... so... this plate is all mine?" Dylan looked into Mrs. Mathers' face, begging for a green light to start consuming the hell out of his portion.  
  
Mat chuckled. "Well, you can't take it with yourself, but you do have the right to empty it. Alright, big boy, let's get acquainted!"  
  
And then the feast began. Dylan began to consume spoons of this wonderful dish faster than Eminem was reading "Rap God" at the time of its recording. Mat and his mom looked surprised, but the guy didn't pay attention to them. It was just him and his meal.  
  
Finally, the plates were empty. Letting out a loud burp, the boys placed their backs on backrests of their seats. Dylan felt like a steam engine cooling down after long hours of work. A feeling of satisfaction was ricocheting inside his brain like an instable particle, thought after a few seconds its speed started to fall. The boy wanted to fall down, hoping to reverse this process. He almost didn't want to leave the table at all.  
  
"Thanks for the soup, Moms." Mat displayed the same feeling of semi-laziness. He showed his mother a thumb, and let his right hand loose again. Once the woman responded to his gratitude, though, he stood up. "Alright, Dylan, I think it's time to write that paper."  
  
"Y-yeah, you're right, let's go." Dylan quickly left his seat, and the two of them went to Mat's personal heaven.  
  
* * *  
  
Dylan was overwhelmed by how much that room didn't resemble his own. There were so many posters that they pretty much acted as a replacement for wallpaper. A huge primarily brown and black carpet had the ability to make anyone feel at home, and the young Harris didn't become an exception. The dog inside his mind started to roll on the floor, desperate for attention.  
  
He sat on Mat's bed, and it was so soft he felt tempted to fall on it. But he knew better than to relax before the job was done.  
  
"You ready?" The young Mathers took a seat at the desk with his PC. Turned off, the monitor looked like a chalkboard, waiting to be drawn on.  
  
"Yes... I mean, I am." Dylan hit his chest with the palm of his right hand.  
  
"Okay, lemme wind that guy up." Mat pressed a square button, and the computer case began to moo. A standard Windows 7 greeting appeared on the screen, and after a few seconds it made way for a sky blue screen with the icon of the boy's profile. He entered his password, and a photo of Miss Marchi greeted him shortly afterwards.  
  
"Nice desktop wallpaper you have here." The young Harris chuckled.  
  
"Yeah, I know. Motivates me to try my hardest when dealing with history. Anyway, let's get started!" Mat opened the browser, and typed in 'The Industrial Revolution'.  
  
* * *  
  
(Lady_M entered the chat)  
  
Lady_M: Helloooooo~  
  
BS: Good evening.  
  
Sam_The_Ox: Greetings!  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: 'sup?  
  
Lady_M: Well, it seems like the two of them are doing just fine.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: I hope Mat will introduce us to that little boy of his someday  
  
Lady_M: I'm sure he will, but please, don't do anything indecent around him, okay?  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: 'kay~  
  
BS: You know, the way Dylan enjoys lunch breaks really makes me question whether his parents feed him well enough.  
  
Lady_M: Maybe he just likes the local menu?  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: I don't think so. might just be me, given what OUR cafeteria feeds us  
  
BS: Perhaps you're right, M. Still, this little detail bothers me quite a bit.  
  
Lady_M: Whatever you say, man.  
  
Sam_The_Ox: You know, I noticed that Dylan and Mat walked out of the building together.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: sounds exciting~  
  
BS: Why would they do that?  
  
Sam_The_Ox: Perhaps Mat decided to show Dylan a skeleton from his closet. You know, just to demonstrate the level of trust he wants from the guy.  
  
Lady_M: Sounds a little extreme, no?  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: wouldna be surprised if that was the case. I mean, if I wanted someone to be honest with me, I'd be honest with them first  
  
BS: Agreed.  
  
Sam_The_Ox: So, what are we going to do while Mat's offline?  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: I recently dug up an old CD with Devil May Cry 3. wanna see me die a thousand times?  
  
BS: Sure, why not?  
  
Sam_The_Ox: Count me in.  
  
Lady_M: No, thanks. XD  
  
(Lady_M left the chat)  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: bitch~  
  
Sam_The_Ox: Eh, let her be. Perhaps some other time.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: whateva, man. lets roll  
  
* * *  
  
Dylan still couldn't believe he was walking back home happy. Perhaps the reason for that was the need to be quiet inside the building, which is why he was kinda forced to withhold his enjoyment. The dog, that black bitch of terror, finally kicked the bucket. Its corpse went deeper than six feet, never to be found again.  
  
Mat slapped the boy's spine the way old friends do. "We did good, don't you think?"  
  
"Thank you so much, Mat. If it weren't for you, I'd definitely be in trouble." Dylan felt a strong urge to hug him. "I don't think I can every repay you for that."  
  
"You're welcome. Glad I managed to save you from that big and scary B!" Mat formed a devil's head out of his right hand and put it on his forehead.  
  
His friend didn't laugh, but inside he once again felt grateful for having met that guy.  
  
_**TO BE CONTINUED**_


	2. Video Kid 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy reveals his problem, and the Video Kid offers a solution. Will it work?

Dylan and Mat started their Saturday off with a walk through a park. Originally the latter hesitated to accept the former's invitation, but in the end he gave up, admitting to be weak against his friend's prettiness. And so they went to Wildflower, the natural treasury of Greenfield. This place is visited every month by hundreds of people doing little more than admiring its flowers, trees, and more.  
  
The boys took a seat at a bench near a bush with eastern spring beauties (Claytonia virginica). They were watching wind blowing through branches of the park's biggest tree. The sunlight was fighting its way through clusters of leaves. Those green people were clapping like a huge crowd of theater fans which relaxed every fiber of Mat's muscles.  
  
He closed his eyes, and started to fly towards the tree. He felt like there was an invisible cybersport stage, and that the leaves were young fans praising a player that had just crushed his opponent in a match of _League of Legends_ or _DOTA 2_. The boy wanted to take a seat at the closest computer and show everyone how to fight. He wanted to win an even bigger crowd. He wanted—  
  
"Erm, Mat?" Dylan said. His voice hit Mat's brain like a water balloon. The picture of applauding youngsters started to fall apart like pieces of a puzzle someone wanted to put on a wall without gluing them together beforehand. A few seconds later Mat fell back on the bench the boys were sitting on. His friend stared at him with half-closed eyes. He looked upset, though it was unclear how in the world that would be the case in a situation like this.  
  
"Wha—? Oh, sorry, got carried away," Mat uttered, and then he hit his head with a fist and closed his left eye. "You wanna tell me something?"  
  
"Well..." Dylan said, and turned his vision back to the tree, hyping Mat up. Having supported Dylan throughout these few days, Mat felt like his efforts were about to pay off. However, he kept his mouth shut in order not to scare Lady Luck. As much as he enjoyed helping with that Industrial Revolution essay, he didn't like doing more than necessary.  
  
Finally, Dylan took a deep breath and grabbed the door of his closet. The skeleton inside it began to move its jaw, "I have an abusive girlfriend."  
  
Mat exhaled. That alone was incredibly tough. Dylan's "significant" other probably tried to silence and beat him into submission so that he wouldn't call the cops. Mat felt a sudden stroke of pity for his friend and hatred for said friend's tormentor.  
  
But then he saw Dylan opening his mouth again, concluding that it was just the tip of the iceberg. Dylan went on, "Her name is Bella James. She's a daughter of an accomplished businessman from Redwood. Our family's poor, so marrying her may give us access to the James family's wealth."  
  
"So you’re in it for the money? I think that’s crazy," Mat said with a sigh. And here he thought his new friend was better than that. Has it ever occurred to him that no wealth in the world is worth torturing yourself?  
  
"I’m not participating in it by choice,” Dylan went on, shaking his head as he spoke. “It’s all because of mommy. She demands that I act nice around Bella and her parents. I tried to reason with her, I explained that this affair was killing me emotionally and physically, but she didn’t want to listen."  
  
"Daaaaamn…!" Mat muttered in embarrassment. He knew that parents can be hard on their children, but using your own son as a means to get rich quick? In his eyes Mrs. Harris discovered a brand new low.  
  
"I've tried to convince myself that it was normal just to avoid going insane, but"—Dylan lowered his head—"part of me still feels stress bottling up inside."  
  
_Stress... bottling... up... inside..._  
  
These four words caused Mat to jump. An image of his room invaded his mind. A figure of a teenager materialized in front of the PC. Mat's eyes began to widen as its screen slowly turned from black to colorful. And then he saw a green mutant dying with its body turning into bloody chunks. Blood rushed to his brain as he began to laugh.  
  
"M-Mat?" Dylan uttered. "What’s wrong with you?"  
  
Mat tried to stop, not wanting to give his friend a nervous breakdown. He took a deep breath, counted to ten, and exhaled. "I’m sorry, it’s just… I know what can help you deal with anger and sadness," he admitted.  
  
"R-really? What is it?" his friend's eyes lit up. At that moment Mat saw something he'd been wanting to see ever since he met Dylan. That was hope for independence. A desire to live his own life.  
  
"You ever heard of a thing called videogames?"  
  
No reply. Dylan was just sitting on the bench and staring at his friend. His left eye was wider than his right one. His eyebrows squeezed against his eyelids the way they do when people are upset.  
  
"I see. Well, in short, they're an interactive form of entertainment. All you have to do is press the right buttons, and fun stuff happens," Mat said. Upon realization that he was being vague he slapped himself in the face. "Y'know, I guess I better show you instead. What say we head to my place to have some educational fun?"  
  
Dylan failed to reply yet again, but this time he closed his eyes and grabbed his forehead. One corner of his mouth went down, while the other went up, and the muscles around them former angle brackets. After a few seconds of him sitting like this his face became relaxed. He turned his vision to Mat. "I suppose it shouldn't be a problem, but if Bella calls me, I'll have to leave as soon as possible. If she finds out I made a friend, she'll be furious," Dylan said with a sigh.  
  
"Perhaps you're right," Mat said. He sounded like one half of him felt pity for his friend while the other half didn't give a single damn. Finally, he got off the bench. "Well then, let's do it."  
  
"Right."  
  
* * *  
  
Mrs. Mathers smiled upon seeing Mat and Dylan together. "Nice to see you in our house again, Harris. Does my boy Matty treat you well?" she asked like they were a couple.  
  
Mat blushed a little bit while Dylan smiled. "If I were a Human Behavior teacher — and if that subject existed in the first place — I'd give him an A, no less," he uttered. His own simile surprised him, but not much.  
  
"Oh, come on, you're taking it"—Mat looked at Dylan's smile—"actually, no, screw it, you're right."  
  
Mrs. Mathers giggled. "Well, since you're here, shall I serve you some of my lentil soup?" she asked, placing her hands over her crotch like maids do.  
  
"No, thanks, I'm... not hungry," Dylan replied, this time without turning his vision away.  
  
"Oh, I see. What are you doing to do then?" Mrs. Mathers asked, also looking a bit surprised.  
  
"Well, Mat wanted to"—Dylan felt his friend's stare on himself—"show me something. Said it was going to be a surprise. I'm not a big fan of surprises, but according to him, this one will... blow my mind, or something."  
  
Dylan chuckled, having used that phrase for the first time in his life.  
  
"Yeah, we're going to have some fun, and then prepare for the upcoming lessons," Mat said calmly. "Have a nice day!"  
  
"Same to you!" Mrs. Mathers exclaimed, and the boys proceeded to walk into the room Dylan spent enough time in to consider it his second home. Mat's wallposter and PC greeted him, making him feel like an important visitor. Dylan took a look around that part of the walls that was near the ceiling, only to discover more posters. Mat must've used a ladder to put those up.  
  
He saw Mat reaching under his bed and pulling something out. Said something turned out to be his console. Dylan gulped with his right hand shaking near a pocket with his cellphone. For a brief moment his eyes widened, but once Mat connected the console to his monitor, the shaking subsided. Dylan took a deep breath, and asked, "So this is what you call 'videogames'?"  
  
"Yeah, and I don't want my mother to know about this thing's existence," Mat replied with a sigh. "Let's just say she doesn't appreciate videogames the way I do. Oh, and by the way, I'm glad you didn't expose my plan."  
  
"Oh, it wasn't hard. Mother glares at me all the time when it comes to keeping my mouth shut about things that come to my mind," Dylan said with a giggle, making Mat sigh yet again. "A useful habit to have when you're dealing with a person like her."  
  
"Right... anyway, we're gonna need those things so that nobody can hear us," Mat said, pulling two pairs of headphones from his drawer. He connected them to his console and gave one to Dylan. "I supposed you've never used headphones before?"  
  
"That's right," Dylan replied. "I use my PC only to gather information on different subjects. It doesn't require keeping sounds for oneself."  
  
"I see. Okay, let's use my personal favorite for today's lesson," Mat said, turning his console on and injecting an orange cartridge into it. The screen went from a black square to a picture of a battlefield. There were three green mutants. They looked similar to those Mat killed before his encounter with Dylan, albeit smaller.  
  
Dylan gulped. "Who... are they?" he asked in a shaky voice.  
  
"Just some mutants. Don't worry, they're supposed to look unpleasant," Mat replied calmly. He pointed at his gamepad. It looked like a colored version of a Nintendo Super Famicom gamepad, but, of course, Dylan had no idea what any of those word meant.  
  
"What do you do with this thing?" Dylan asked, also pointing at the gamepad.  
  
Mat pressed a small gray button, and the mutants disappeared from the battlefield. He then started pressing various parts of a cross-shaped button. "Take a close look at what I'm doing," he said, causing Dylan to sit closer to him. "This here is called a controller. What I'm pressing right now is called a d-pad. It causes the character I play as to move around. See?"  
  
Dylan looked at the screen, and saw that the first-person camera was moving around. He held his breath when a group of mutants entered the scene. Before those creatures had a chance to notice the hero, though, Mat pressed the gray button again.  
  
"This one is called the "Start" button. Press it to put the game on pause or switch it back to action," Mat said. Dylan looked at him like a curious child, just like he did when they first met. Mat then pointed at four round colorful buttons. "And these are the main source of fun, so to say. Press the blue button to shoot, the green one to jump, and the red one to reload your magazine. Wanna switch to another weapon? Hold the yellow button, and scroll through the list of weapons with the d-pad. Sounds simple enough?"  
  
"Wait, shoot? Reload? Weapon?" Dylan asked, looking half in shock. "Are you trying to tell me that we're... going to be killing those creatures?"  
  
"Dude, relax, those guys ain't real. And even if they were, nobody would mourn their deaths," Mat said with a shrug. "Like I said, they were designed to look unpleasant just so a person killing them would feel good about it without actually going on a killing spree. See what I'm getting at?"  
  
Dylan took a few deep breaths. "I think so... still, that does sound kinda scary," he replied with a smile. His eyebrows assumed a shape of a caret.  
  
"Understandable, really. Still, you're gonna love it once you get used to it, trust me on this one," Mat said, slapping Dylan's spine in a friendly way. "Okay, you ready?"  
  
Dylan closed his eyes. For around a minute he was just sitting near his friend. His serene face looked like he was trying to read either Mat's or his videogame hero's mind. Finally, the eyelids rose. "Yeah, I'm ready," he said, accepting the gamepad from Mat's hands. He gulped, sighed and pressed the 'Start' button.  
  
At that moment the mutants started to move again. They were fast, which caused Dylan's hands to shake. He used the d-pad to start moving backwards, but the mutants quickly reached him and started beating the hell out of him. "Blue!" Mat exclaimed. Fortunately, it wasn't followed by his mother's voice from behind the door.  
  
After a few more hits Dylan finally pressed the blue button. Bullets started coming out of the game hero's AK-47. After two shots the monster in front of him died, but Dylan kept holding the button and walking backwards. Before Mat had a chance to say anything else Dylan realized that he was wasting bullets, and used the d-pad to move the came right and left, killing more mutants in the process.  
  
Once all of them died, he pressed the 'Start' buttons and slapped his face. "Don't worry, it wasn't half-bad. You just need to get used to the controls, and everything will be fine," Mat patted his spine. "Come on, try to find more of those freaks and kill them."  
  
"Alright!" Dylan half-shouted, breathing faster and louder than usual. His eyebrows formed a straight line when he resumed the game. Carefully moving his thumb around the d-pad, he was walking around the battlefield. Two more mutants walked out of a building made of yellow bricks, and started running towards him. This time he pressed the blue button four times, killing both of those monsters.  
  
"Much better! Clear A!" Mat exclaimed, throwing both of his hands in the air. However, Dylan didn't pause the game to see that. He began to stare at the screen, trying to find some more mutants to shoot. He met a group of three, switched weapon to a sticky grenade launcher, and paused the game.  
  
"Erm, Mat?" he asked.  
  
Mat turned his vision to Dylan and saw his friend looking a bit nervous. "What?"  
  
Dylan pointed at the sticky grenade launcher sticking out of the lower part of the screen. "What does this thing do?"  
  
"Oh, the sticky grenade launcher? Simple: you shoot a bomb at a target, it sticks to said target, and then it explodes," Mat replied. "Just be careful not to be around the target when that happens, and you're all good."  
  
"Understood..." Dylan whispered, resuming the game. He shot all three mutants and proceeded to back away like he did the first time. After a few seconds the mutants exploded, showering the game hero with blood and guts. Dylan paused the game, and quickly turned around. He started coughing, afraid he would vomit on his good friend's floor.  
  
"Don't worry, I felt that way too," Mat said, patting Dylan's spine. "Everyone feels sick the first time they kill someone. But just like with everything else, the more you do it, the easier it becomes and the lesser the drawbacks like this."  
  
Dylan took a really deep breath, exhaled, and then did it a few more times. After a while the urge to vomit subsided. "Alright... I think I'm... all good now..." he said, still breathing deeply. He grabbed the gamepad once again, resumed the game, switched back to the AK-47, and proceeded to roam the battlefield.  
  
"You sure you'll be fine?" Mat asked. His caring voice caused Dylan to giggle.  
  
"Y-yeah..." Dylan replied. After a short sigh he added, "Thank you. I'm okay now, really."  
  
"Hope so," Mat said in the same caring voice. After a few seconds Dylan met a small group of mutants, and destroyed them. This time he was firmly holding the gamepad. The straight line over his eyes slowly started turning into a V. However, it became straight again when he heard a loud angry roar.  
  
"Oh wow, it must be their daddy!" Mat exclaimed. Dylan felt a note of joy in his voice, and that caused him to gulp. However, he didn't let his hands shake again. Mat then added, "Welp, it's time for the main treat."  
  
"What do you mean?" Dylan asked, setting the game on pause.  
  
"Remember why we started this session in the first place?"  
  
Dylan looked at his friend and saw him smiling deviously. "Well, you promised to teach me to deal with anger and sadness through videogames."  
  
"And this is exactly what we're going to be doing right now," Mat said. "You're about to meet the boss of these mutants. Now, all you have to do is imagine the person you despise the most in the place of this mutant."  
  
Dylan's eyes widened, and Mat went on, "Now, before you start complaining, yes, you WILL think of that monster as a real person you don't like, but please, bear with me. This is just your imagination. You're not going to actually hurt that person in any way, or else you're gonna get in trouble with the law. However, killing that monster WHILE pretending it IS that person will give you a feeling of settling your score with him or her. That way you'll get rid of any pent-up frustration WITHOUT taking a single life in the real world."  
  
"So... if I do this... I'll be... all good?" Dylan asked. His eyes began to normalize.  
  
"Exactly!" Mat exclaimed, leaning towards his friend with his arms spread.  
  
"I see..." Dylan turned his vision back to the screen.  
  
"Very well then," Mat said, imitating Miss Marchi, "it's time for your final exercise. Dylan Harris, take Bella James down!"  
  
"S-sure thing, Mister Mathers..." Dylan whispered. He pressed the 'Start' button, and after a few steps forward and a few steps left he saw a mutant twice as big and twice as fat as the ones he killed before. The creature was covered with stone-like spikes that made him look like Doomsday from DC Comics. It flexed its muscles in an attempt to intimidate Dylan, but having seen enough of freaks like it, the young Harris wasn't afraid.  
  
He set the game on pause and closed his eyes. _Imagine that it's Bella... imagine that it's Bella..._ he told himself. _Just your imagination... just your imagination..._  
  
Once he opened his eyes, an image ran through his mind. It was the same battlefield, but the giant in front of him turned into a black-haired girl with lipstick. She was dressed in a black leather jacket and black leather pants.  
  
"Oh, if it isn't Dylly! What did I tell you about making friends?" she asked. "You're not allowed to see anyone without my permission!"  
  
Dylan gulped. His eyes widened once again. _B-Bella...?_ he asked himself.  
  
"You have to be more obedient than that," she said in a seductive tone. "Or, maybe, you want me to tell your parents that you're hanging out with strange people?"  
  
_Shut up..._  
  
"I'm sure they're not going to like that," she said with a smile. "Boy, just imagine the face of your mother once she finds out!"  
  
"Shut up!" he exclaimed, resuming the game. He quickly switched to the sticky grenade launcher. Clenching his teeth, he shot all grenades he had left at the mutant in front of him.  
  
And then it exploded. A rain of blood and organs fell on the game's main hero, painting the camera red. At that moment another image went through Dylan's head. This time he saw a white desert and the black sky. A man dressed in a white rag was standing in the middle of it, chained to the ground. He looked like an older version of Dylan, albeit his hair was messy. He was frowning when one of his chains broke.  
  
Once it did, he turned his vision to the sky, and a diabolic laugh erupted from his mouth. Dylan could clearly see his triangle chalk-white fangs, and a thin line of salvia connecting the lower and the upper jaw. "RELEASE ME!"  he shouted. And then the image disappeared, and Dylan was once again sitting in front of Mat's PC.  
  
"Dylan, are you okay?" Mat asked. His friend started to sweat, his breath was shallow.  
  
"Mat... that was..." Dylan whispered, still feeling himself disconnected from reality, "that was... wonderful!"  
  
"See? Told ya!" Mat exclaimed with a sigh. "Oh, and thank you for not shouting at the top of your lungs. That sure would get both of us in trouble."  
  
"Y-yeah..." Dylan uttered with an awkward giggle. He put the gamepad on the floor. "Okay, that'll do for the first time."  
  
"Hope so," Mat said, turning his console off and disconnecting it from the monitor. He was about to place it and the gamepad under his bed when his friend's phone ringed. Dylan jumped before pulling it out of his pocket.  
  
He saw Bella's name on the screen, and sighed. "Oh  tartar sauce..."  
  
"What's wrong, Mister M-80?" Mat asked with a chuckle.  
  
"That's Bella," Dylan replied with a sigh. "Sorry, but I've got to go, otherwise I'm dead."  
  
"Y-yeah, you go, dude..." Mat uttered. This time he sounded worried.  
  
"But still, thanks for everything you've done to me, really," Dylan said, and pressed the green button. "Yes?"  
  
"Dylan, where are you right now?" Bella asked. "I'm getting a little bit worried over here."  
  
"I'm at my classmate's place," Dylan said. He didn't have time to come up with a better lie, so he was just going with the flow. "He helped me to get ready to... you know, upcoming lessons. Don't know where I would be without him."  
  
"I see..." Bella replied. She didn't sound convinced. "Well, in any case, hurry up and get here. You know that I hate to wait."  
  
"Y-yeah, I'm coming," Dylan said. He pressed the red button and quickly hid his phone in his pocket. "Well, see you later, Mat!"  
  
"Sure thing, dude!" Mat said, waving his hand already. He stretched out the first syllable of the last word, causing his friend to giggle. Dylan ran out of the room, and Mat had to close it himself.  
  
"Leaving already?" Mrs. Mathers asked. She sounded a bit disappointed.  
  
"Sorry, can't stay for much longer," Dylan said upon stopping near the exit. "My girlfriend called. She's gonna murder me if I'm late."  
  
"Very well then. See you later, Harris," Mrs. Mathers said. She waved her hand when Dylan opened the door. After a few seconds the wooden wall between the two of them rose again.  
  
* * *  
  
The Harrises lived in a small two-floor house located down Woodstock Street. It had golden walls, golden doors, golden roof, even the garage attached to the right side of it was golden. The entire building was covered with lacquer which is why it shined on the sun. In fact, the light produced by this house was so bright one would think our yellow star was going to retire and pass the torch.  
  
Bella James was standing near the entrance to the Harris residence, squeezing her phone and looking at its screen. Her right foot was constantly hitting the ground, imitating the hook of KoЯn's _Wake Up Hate_. Her right eye was twitching, her mouth was curvy.  
  
When her foot was about to start the same combination of stomps, Dylan entered her vision. She hid her phone in the pocket of her jacket, and grabbed her side with her right hand. The curve on her face turned into an arrogant smirk. His face was sweating, but he didn't stop until there was no more than a meter between the two of them.  
  
"There you are," she said once Dylan stopped. "Boy, you look tired. Where does that classmate of yours even lives?"  
  
"An... huff... Anger... huff... Anger Management Street... huff... house number 6... huff..." Dylan replied. Once his breathing normalized, he added, "Why? Is there a problem?"  
  
"Well, not really, but if you start doing runs like that, your heart might crack," Bella said in a semi-caring, semi-apathetic tone. "Anyway, we're going to the cinema. Today they have _Cry Camellia: Counting the Tears_. I reeeeally wanna see what Ernesto has in mind. I'm sure you'd like that, too."  
  
"Y-yeah, sounds like a plan. I've got nothing better to do anyway, so... let's go," Dylan said in a shaky voice. "And again, sorry for not getting here sooner."  
  
"I forgive you, but pretty please, try not to do that again," Bella murmured, moving her lips closer to his ear. She then whispered, "Neither of us would like that, right?"  
  
"Yup," Dylan replied in a monotonous voice.  
  
"Goody! Now, let's go!" Bella exclaimed, and the two of them walked up to the garage. She pulled out a remote controller, pressed a button, and after a few seconds they saw a motorcycle, a black-and-white Honda. Once they took their seat, the engine roared, and the wheeled beast rushed up Woodstock Street.  
  
* * *  
  
(Young_MaMa entered the chat)  
  
Young_MaMa: Hello there, guys! Sorry 4 the wait! I'm finally here again!  
  
Lady_M: Yaaaay!  
  
BS: Evening, Mat!  
  
Sam_The_Ox: Greetings, Sir Mathers! It's an honor to have you at our humble place at this time of the day!  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: so, have ya boys kissed yet?  
  
Lady_M: XD;  
  
BS: XD  
  
Young_MaMa: Nah.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: boooooo~  
  
Young_MaMa: Still, I think my solution to his problem worked.  
  
BS: What was it?  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: I'm intrigued~  
  
Young_MaMa: Well, in short, he has it rough at home, and being a quiet type, he's got no way to let that frustration out. In order to help him combat stress, I suggested him to play _Green Menace_.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: oh wow~  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: like mah favorite song go, "life is born on the battlefield. girls and boys will learn to kill."  
  
Lady_M: I'm of two minds about this...  
  
Lady_M: On one hand, yeah, now he's got a way to cope with whatever abuse he has to swallow, but on the other hand, what will his parents think of it?  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: ya think they be like Mat's mom?  
  
Lady_M: Carol...  
  
Young_MaMa: Nah, she's right. Chances are his parents aren't too fond of videogames. Perhaps we're judging them based on our own experience, but such is the way our mind works.  
  
Young_MaMa: All we can do is pray that we're wrong, and they're not like that.  
  
Lady_M: That's not it. I just didn't want anyone to bring it up around you.  
  
Young_MaMa: Oooooooh! XD;  
  
Young_MaMa: Don't worry about it. I KNOW my mother's got a problem, and I'm not ashamed when it's being discussed by you.  
  
Lady_M: Okay. Sorry for being so cautious then. ^^ ;  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: whatcha gon' do tho? I mean that was his first time right? he obviously ain't got a console of his own. if ya give him your own, you be the one with no way to deal with stress. what if you have to deal with subjects you don't like?  
  
Young_MaMa: Relax, I think I'll find a way. Besides, studies don't affect me THAT much. Dylan, on the other hand, really needs this piece of plastic of mine.  
  
Lady_M: That's humble.  
  
BS: Wouldn't have said that better myself. Well put, Molly!  
  
Lady_M: =^w^=  
  
Young_MaMa: So yeah, I'll let him have it. Meanwhile, I can do something else to let out frustration. I can ask father to buy me a punching bag and install that stuff in my room.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: if ya need a good music to get pissed off to, I can lend you my D12 CDs. try _Fight Music_. this shit will help you take everything out.  
  
Young_MaMa: Heh, thanks in advance!  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: not a problem~  
  
* * *  
  
Dylan walked out of the cinema building with a weak smile on his face. One half of him felt empty while the other half wanted to watch that movie again. Bella, on the other hand, looked absolutely ecstatic. "Whooo, that was great!" she exclaimed, turning her vision to Dylan. "Am I right?"  
  
"Y-yeah," Dylan replied. "The final plot twist sure turned the whole picture upside down. I uh... I hope they'll release it in internet shops so that we'll be able to watch it again."  
  
"Glad you think so too," Bella said. She was about to add something when Dylan's phone started to ring. "What?"  
  
"Oh, that must be that classmate of mine," Dylan replied with an awkward smile. "C-can I reply to him?"  
  
"Sure," Bella said with a sigh. "Go on."  
  
"Th-thank you," Dylan said, and pressed the green button. "Hello?"  
  
Mat's voice filled his ear. "Dylan, it's me, Mat. Listen, I've been thinking about it, and in the end I decided to give you my console along with my _Green Menace_ cartridge. What do you think about that?"  
  
"W-wait! Are you... sure about this?" Dylan asked, looking half in shock. "I thought you needed it to deal with frustration."  
  
"I changed my mind. Given your issues, your need for this thing is bigger than mine," Mat replied in a confident manner.  "Can you tell me your address? I need to know where you live."  
  
"Okay, listen, Mat. I know you want to help me, but—"  
  
"Hey, what are you guys talking about?" Bella asked. Her eyebrows started to form a V when she walked closer to Dylan. "Dylly, may I talk to that classmate of yours?"  
  
"Dylan, don't let her tell you what to do," Mat said in a half-angry voice. Dylan realized he heard her.  
  
"Dylan, gimme that thing now," Bella demanded. The angle of her V became smaller. "I don't want you to get in trouble."  
  
"Mat isn't a troublemaker," Dylan replied. His eyebrows began to form their own V. "You don't know him like I do."  
  
Bella's face didn't change. "Dylan, don't make me hit you."  
  
Dylan started to tremble. "Mat, I'm afraid you two will have to talk. I'm sorry," he said before passing the phone to Bella.  
  
"Hello," she said. Mat was talking to her, but Dylan couldn't hear him. "Ha, don't make me laugh. He's doing just fine."  
  
The trembling wasn't getting worse, but it wasn't going away either. All Dylan could do now is wait for their conversation to end.  
  
"It's your influence, I know that. You bullies are all about scaring innocent people so that they do as you say. Well, guess what, I ain't gonna let you have your way with MY Dylly," Bella said with a smirk. "You better not touch Dylan, or else you'll be in trouble. I'm sure Dylan told you that my daddy's rich as hell aaand has got connections."  
  
Dylan looked at the road they were standing near. _Gray and cracked... just like my mind..._ he told himself.  
  
"Alright, this conversation is over!" Bella exclaimed, and pressed the red button. "Man, what a jerk. I don't get how you tolerate him."  
  
"What did he say?" Dylan asked. The next moment he grabbed his head, expecting Bella to hit him.  
  
"Eh, nothing, he just called me a bitch," Bella replied with a sigh, causing Dylan to assume his normal pose. She then moved her face closer to his. "Let's get one thing straight. I don't like him, and if I see you two together, I'm gonna make him pay. He's influencing you, and not in a good way."  
  
Dylan gulped. Bella was staring right into his eyes. In them the young Harris saw a black hole — a dead star that can do nothing but suck everything around it into itself.  
  
"Remember: I do my best to keep you out of trouble. Those assholes who tried to pick on you are gone. Do you know why? Because daddy talked to the Principal," she said, and moved her face closer. "I keep you safe, and I expect you to act nice in return. Do NOT to try to act all rebellious on me after everything I've done to you. Got it?"  
  
"Y-yeah," Dylan replied, lowering his head. "I got it..."  
  
"Good!" Bella straightened up with the same smile she had when the two of them were about to ride to the cinema. "Soooo... how about a ride through our city?"  
  
"S-sounds good."  
  
* * *  
  
Midnight. Dylan was sleeping without making a single sound. On the outside he looked calm, and nothing could indicate his inner struggle. He was dreaming of the same white desert with the black sky he saw during his _Green Menace_ session at Mat's place. The older version of him just stood there in silence. Then Dylan Senior started to pull the remaining chains.  
  
_Stop it..._ Dylan told himself. _Why are you doing this...? It'll bring us nothing but trouble._  
_  
_ But Dylan Senior refused. He kept pulling harder and harder, and when that failed, he let out a loud roar of anger and disappointment. Dylan sighed, and when he did, Dylan Senior gave him a cold and menacing look.  
  
"Think about it. Yeah, sure, I'll free you. I'll destroy those chains. Then what?" Dylan asked. He sounded like he was about to laugh, cry and scream in anger at the same time. "You'll just kill everyone around me. Do you think I need that?"  
  
Dylan Senior turned his vision to the ground. "Perhaps..." he replied. "Perhaps you're right..."  
  
"Please, let's just forget this whole affair with games and let things be the way they are, okay?" Dylan asked in the same mixed tone. "I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to feel more pain than I already do! I don't—"  
  
A tune of his mobile phone made the white desert disappear from his mind. He made one fast push up, opening his eyes wide. He then turned his vision to the right and saw Mat's name on the screen. Part of him didn't want to reply, but the other part begged, no, ordered him to pick up the phone. After a few seconds of this mental struggle he pressed the green button. "H-hi, Mat. What's the matter?"  
  
"Hi, Dylan..." Mat replied with a sigh. This made Dylan feel a bit better. "Sorry about today, okay? I just... I got angry and shouted at her which is why she became so hostile towards me. I know I didn't mean a thing I spat at her in blind fury."  
  
Dylan sighed. "Fine, I forgive you, but please, try not to stand on her way like that again," Dylan said in a tortured voice. "She already promised to hurt you if you ever cross my path again. I told you her father was a—"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, a big name, I got that," Mat uttered. "Sorry... anyway, mind if we pick up where we left off?"  
  
"You mean when you offered me your console?" Dylan asked. "I don't feel like I want to talk about it."  
  
"Okay, Dylan, I'm gonna be blunt with you," Mat said in a half-angry tone. "Right now you have no way to went out your frustration. No way to deal with emotions bottled up inside you. It makes you the way you are right now — weak, dependent on others, depressed, unstable. If you keep going this way, you may end up committing suicide."  
  
Dylan sighed. "Are you trying to tell me you don't want it?" he asked.  
  
"Exactly!" Mat exclaimed, surprising Dylan. "I know deep inside you're a good guy. Remember how much fun we had while working on your Industrial Revolution paper? Or how about that walk in the park? You're a good friend, Dylan, and I don't want you to hurt yourself."  
  
Tears appeared in Dylan's eyes. "M-Mat..."  
  
"I'm not doing this for me. Screw me, if you will," Mat said with a chuckle. "I'm doing this for no one but you. I want you to live. If you just take that goddamn scrap of plastic away from me, you'll do us both a favor. Do you feel me?" he asked, and after a few seconds added in a quieter voice, "Man, been wanting to use this word like that for quite some time now..."  
  
Dylan started to cry. "Th-thank... _sniff..._ thank... thank you... M-Mat... _sniff..._ I'm... sorry for... _sniff..._ being so weak..." he replied.  
  
"Eh, it's okay," Mat said with a sigh. "Anyway, will you accept my gift now?"  
  
"Y-yeah, sure," Dylan replied, wiping his face. "Come and give it to me, if you can."  
  
"I have my copy of home keys, so sneaking out shouldn't be a problem," Mat said. "Oh, by the way, where can I find you, again? Bella interrupted us when I asked your address."  
  
Dylan still hesitated, but then his right hand hit him in the chest. "19 Woodstock Street, a small golden house. My window is at the backside of the building. I'll stick out my hand so that you'll see where I am, okay?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, sounds like a plan," Mat replied. "Okay, I'm coming right now. See you when I get there."  
  
The call ended. Dylan pressed the red button, still torn between being loyal to Bella and his mother and accepting help from Mat. He closed his eyes in hopes to see that older version of himself again, and there he stood, that poor guy in torn clothes. For a few minutes the two of them just stood there gazing at each other. Dylan wanted to say something, but stopped himself upon realization that the man in front of him knew it already.  
  
He opened his eyes when he heard Mat's voice. "Hey, Dylan, where are you?" Mat asked. Dylan realized that he didn't hear his friend coming, leaned towards the window and stuck out his right hand.  
  
"There you are," Mat whispered. He then took off his backpack and opened it. "There we go. Just connect it to your monitor, and do the thing we did yesterday, alright?"  
  
"Y-yeah..." Dylan replied in a shaky voice. "Thank you very much, Mat. Now I know that I can trust you. Man, I sure gave you a headache, didn't I?"  
  
"Eh, it's nothing," Mat said, scratching the back of his head with his eyes closed. "Don't forget about headphones, by the way. And remember: don't leave that thing in the open. Always keep it hidden somewhere when you're not alone, got it?"  
  
Dylan nodded. "Of course," he replied, pulling Mat's console, a pair of headphones and the orange cartridge out of the backpack. "Don't worry, I'll keep these safe."  
  
Mat smiled. "Glad to hear that," he said. "Anyway, I've got to go now. Catch you later, buddy."  
  
He attached his backpack to his back again and started walking away. Dylan waved his hand, even though Mat couldn't see it, and closed his window. He then hid Mat's console, the headphones and the cartridge under his bed, at the corner formed by the headboard and Dylan's personal cabinet. _That should do for now,_ he told himself. He then let out a sigh of relief, and went back under his blanket, already excited about trying _Green Menace_ out all by himself.  
  
Dylan Senior chuckled sinisterly.  
  
**_TO BE CONTINUED_**


	3. Video Kid -Final-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quiet boy is handling the game well, but his surrounding puts him in a dangerous position. What will happen to him in the end?

Bella called around a minute after Dylan woke up. "Good morning, Dylly. I hope I didn't ruin your sleep." She sounded cheerful, but he still felt like something was off. Did she spy on him while he was asleep? She could've.  
  
"Good morning, Bella. No, not all, I've just gotten up. Still need to brush my teeth and stuff." He gave his cabinet a worried look.  
  
"Alright, well, hurry up and get outside"—her rude voice got softer—"I'm coming to pick you up. We have a date today, remember?"  
  
Dylan giggled. "Of course I do. Bye-bye." Upon pressing the red handset he walked up to his bed to tidy it up. Once that was done he changed into his "casual" clothing, left his room and went to the bathroom. Brushing his teeth with half-closed eyes, he was constantly moving his vision right and left. Once bad taste and awful odor left his mouth he ran out of the bathroom and turned to the exit.  
  
At that moment he saw his mother. That painfully thin woman dressed in a kimono was standing at the front door. The way she was glaring at Dylan felt like he did something horrible. The boy gulped and slowly walked up to her. Standing against the lights, the woman was casting a shadow that consumed him when he approached her.  
  
500 yen coin earrings. Brown hair was pinned to the back and looked so thin it almost repeated the shape or her skull. Combined with half-closed eyes this woman made Dylan feel like he actually misbehaved, even if that couldn't be farther from truth.  
  
After a minute of that staring contest Dylan took a deep breath. "G-good morning, mother."  
  
"I do hope I do not have to remind you to be nice to Miss James." Mrs. Harris tilted her head back while saying that.  
  
"O-of course not. Bella's coming to get me right now, and"—he looked down—"I'm ready for that... I guess."  
  
Dylan's mother placed her palms on his cheeks. "You do not seem confident in that, though. Did something happen?"  
  
"N-nothing. Nothing at all!"  
  
"It better be true, Dylan"—she moved her face closer to his—"Do not try to hide anything from me. Do you understand?"  
  
She was saying it slowly, emphasizing every word. From the moment she went silent the poor boy's breathing was getting slower by the minute. His elbow began to sweat, and the warm cloud appeared near his lungs. He gulped and took a deep breath, as if about to say something.  
  
And then Jonathan Davis' voice hit their ears. Dylan exhaled, glad to hear KoЯn for the first time in his life. "It's Bella!" He put on the biggest smile he could fit on his face.  
  
"Good." In about a second Mrs. Harris' cold stare transformed into a gentle smile. "Go and have fun, you two."  
  
No reply from Dylan. Free from his mother's grasp, he immediately pushed the door open and smiled yet again. Bella James was sitting on her Honda with arms crossed under her breasts. The motorcycle stood on its kickstand silently, but the player near the handlebars was spitting _Wake Up Hate_.  
  
"Yo." Bella tilted her head back. "I'm gonna need him, like, right now."  
  
Mrs. Harris bowed. "As you wish." Her words made Dylan feel awkward, but he kept quiet. Riding with that girl and disregarding rules was better than staring into the abyss of his dear mommy's eyes. He was sitting behind Bella when she turned the motor on and withdrew the kickstand. And then they disappeared in a cloud of dust.  
  
* * *  
  
Sounds of a hundred horns were accompanying Dylan and Bella in their exploits. Since the encounter at the Harris residence the two of them managed to get six cars to run off the road and to pass red light eleven times. They also scared a bunch of children and nearly hit a girl around their age when she was about to cross the road. She got off just in time.  
  
"Drat!" Bella tried her best to outshout the engine roar. "Couldn't that dumbass see?! The queen's riding! She's lucky her reflexes were good enough!"  
  
Dylan didn't say anything. Havoc the two of them were wrecking started to wear him down, and even Bella's money and freedom they provided didn't help. The boy was traumatized. Not by all the people they hurt, but by the speed with which he and Bella were riding, by all the horn sounds and by his so-called girlfriend's shouting.  
  
But despite all of that he grit his teeth, knowing that his weakness would kill her vibe and his future with it. He saw himself behind Mat's console, and that made him feel a bit better. Dylan recalled the mutant shootout he and his friend participated in. He imagined doing that in his own room. He—  
  
"Whoooo!" Bella's excitement brought him back to reality. Her motorcycle stopped while Jonathan's angry rants subsided. "Okay, I think that's enough."  
  
Upon getting off the vehicle Dylan fell on the sidewalk. He started to breathe as deeply as he could, hoping it would prevent him from going unconscious.  
  
"You alive down there?" Bella giggled upon looking Dylan in the eyes. "Hold on to your life, yo. It ain't over, silly."  
  
A few deep breaths later he started pushing off the concrete. To his own surprise Bella's words didn't faze him one bit. He knew her well enough to understand that nothing would traumatize him more than what they have just went through.  
  
While Dylan was regaining his composure, Bella started to stomp out some rhythm. "So?"  
  
Barely alive mentally, he nonetheless stood up. "N-nice ride..." He put on a big smile which seemed to please Bella. However, his whole body was shaking, and his attempts to stop it only partially succeeded. "W-where are we going now?"  
  
Upon taking a look around Bella pointed at a small restaurant. "Right here!" She then immediately moved her index finger in his direction. "Food's on you!"  
  
"Wh-wha...?" Dylan felt a nasty warm cloud approaching. "B-but I'm..."  
  
Bella's hands teleported on her sides. "Haaaa-haaaa! You ate it!" She briefly covered her mouth, but quickly moved her right hand back to where they came from. "Don't worry about it"—she bent towards Dylan—"I know you're broke as a joke."  
  
He looked at her motorcycle's kickstand. "Ab— _cough_ —absolutely correct."  
  
"Goody. Now, drag my baby to that door. I'll be waiting for you at our table."  
  
Before Dylan could say anything, Bella was already a few steps away from the entrance to McDonald's. He carefully withdrew the kickstand and went in her direction, watching the wheels of his girlfriend's Honda.  
  
* * *  
  
(Miss_M entered the chat)  
  
Miss_M: Wheeeeeewww...  
  
BS: Oh hey, it's Molly.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: yo, you alright?  
  
Miss_M: Try to walk on the streets today! Let's see how alright YOU'RE gonna be!  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: calm down, yo  
  
Young_MaMa: Okay, what happened?  
  
Miss_M: I almost got ran over by some skank on a motorcycle!  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: daaaaamn...  
  
Young_MaMa: What did she look like?  
  
Miss_M: She quickly got away, but I think she wore a black leather jacket and had black hair. Oh, and if my memory serves me right, she wasn't alone.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: tell us, who was that sap unfortunate enough to be her passenger?  
  
Miss_M: I don't know his name, but he had short brown hair and was wearing a jacketless school blazer.  
  
Young_MaMa: It's Dylan!  
  
BS: O_O;  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: and just like that, everything fell into place  
  
Miss_M: What do you mean?  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: if tha guy on that bike really was Dylan, then tha bitch he was wit musta been his homicidal girlfriend  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: I hope yall see the problem now  
  
Young_MaMa: Welp, seems like now I don't have to tell or hide anything.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: youre welcome~  
  
Miss_M: Poor guy...  
  
BS: Man, good thing you had discovered him. Otherwise something terrible would have happened to him.  
  
Young_MaMa: I hope _Green Menace_ will help him. Once we're done talking, I'm gonna ask father to buy that punching bag I mentioned. I'll just tell my mother I decided to train myself a little bit.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: what kinda bag do you want?  
  
Young_MaMa: I think a speed one will do. Been wanting to improve my reaction for quite some time now.  
  
BS: Good thinking.  
  
Young_MaMa: Oh, almost forgot! Carol, thank you for your suggestion, but I'm afraid I have to decline. After reading up some of D12 lyrics on Genius, I don't think I can stomach the stuff they say. Especially that Bizarre guy.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: cmon, he's not that bad~  
  
Young_MaMa: Oh, of course he's not! A guy that beats his own grandmother and has sex with animals is obviously a nice person! XD  
  
Miss_M: Oh for hell's sake...  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: fine. wanna be a sissy, I aint gonna stop ya  
  
Young_MaMa: XD  
  
Young_MaMa: Okay, I better get going. What happened to Molly is horrible, and I'd rather punch that black rubber ball than have Bella's money get me in trouble.  
  
(Young_MaMa left the chat)  
  
Miss_M: Damn, I better apologize...  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: for what? for letting him know how dangerous that slut is? i suggest you dont  
  
Miss_M: But I ruined his mood.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: He would have found out about it one way or another. And trust me, if you hid your problem from us, you'd do a lot more harm. Got it?  
  
Miss_M: Y-yeah...  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: Good...  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: now be a good girl 'n get back to your lovey dovey visual novels~  
  
Miss_M: Sure... thanks.  
  
(Miss_M left the chat)  
  
BS: Great job, Carol.  
  
Asami_Yamazaki: eh, I was just doin my thang  
  
* * *  
  
Dylan couldn't believe he was laying on his bed while it was still sunny outside. Part of him really wanted to fall asleep and not wake up for the next twelve hours. After the restaurant the two of them went to a local circus. Despite enjoying her time there to the fullest Bella said a couple of mean things about the performers, and the boy was forced to watch them get mad at her.  
  
Obviously, the whole affair was smothered once she introduced herself as a member of the James family. She threatened to call the right people, but fortunately, nobody was hurt. Physically, anyway. The main clown's mean expression became a permanent part of Dylan's memory, convincing him not to approach that person ever again.  
  
Finally, his body cooled down, and he pulled everything Mat gave him last night from under his bed. He mainly had to be pleasing Bella, so he didn't expect mother to visit him. Dylan connected the console to his monitor, connected headphones to the device, injected the console's plug into a power socket and turned the gaming machine on. Surprised by the black screen, Dylan noticed he forgot to insert the _Green Menace_ cartridge.  
  
Slapping himself, he put his hand under his bed and found it — the orange Famicom cartridge. After Dylan inserted it into the console, the battlefield with three green mutants greeted him. He put on his headphones and pressed the "Start" button. Down with the AK, he began roaming the wasteland in search of imaginary enemies.  
  
The mutants didn't make him wait — a group of four walked from behind a yellow brick building. Dylan paused the game and closed his eyes. _Remember, it's just your imagination..._ He returned to the game, and a few shots later there was naught but a pile of blood and guts.  
  
His breathing got heavier as he encountered more of those girls. Juggling the AK with the sticky grenade launcher, Dylan was slowly, but steadily breaking through small mobs of Bellas. His hands began to shake—  
  
 _This is for that girl..._  
  
—while a tear appeared in his left eye. He grit his teeth, breathing—  
  
 _This is for making that good clown mad..._  
  
—like he has just ran a long distance. He wanted to scream. He wanted to grab his monitor the way his mother grabbed his head that morning. Dylan wanted to shout out his anger and pain into the bottomless world of bits and bytes, but before he could do that—  
  
"Dylan, the lunch is ready! Go and eat before somebody else takes your portion!"  
  
—his mother called him. Upon taking a few deep breaths, he replied he was "coming right up" and turned _Green Menace_ off. Dylan disconnected everything from his monitor, carefully wrapped the headphones around the console and the cartridge, hid that set under his bed and closed his eyes. For a moment he saw Dylan Senior's vicious smile.  
  
 _I hope you're satisfied for now..._  
  
* * *  
  
"And that's how he bought Newton Oil. At first I didn't believe him and asked, 'But didn't they have a large deal of shares? And you bought all of them?' To both of my questions he replied 'Yes.' And that was it. Mister James is such a caring soul." Still dressed in the morning's wardrobe, Mrs. Harris looked quite overjoyed. Dylan couldn't tell if it was because of how high Bella got on today's date or because of the food on the table.  
  
If it was because of the latter, then Dylan definitely couldn't share his mother's excitement. The table was full of expensive Japanese meals Bella asked her parents to buy for the boy's family. Mrs. Harris had a plate of fugu — a blowfish cooked by a chef with nine years of experience, — Mr. Harris had a plate of basashi — a piece of raw horse meat, — and Dylan had a bowl of suppon — a soup made of a soft-shelled turtle of the same name.  
  
Dylan was a vegetarian, so the sight of meat repulsed him. Obviously afraid of his mother, however, he was silently eating that dish and smiling. From time to time he would look at the faces of his parents. Mr. Harris was smiling as well, but Dylan felt like something was off. His father's smile looked tense, forced, if you will.  
  
If, however, Mrs. Harris was happy because of Bella, then Dylan could relate. The boy was glad his monster of a girlfriend was satisfied, especially now that he could deal with emotions their dates were causing him to feel. The combat rid him of fear for that the life of that girl they almost hit, of anxiety over that clown's displeasure, of everything.  
  
"I have also heard he donated ten million dollars in Klebold's Arms. I believe he plans to support our soldiers in the Middle East just so they bring him local oil wells." Mrs. Harris looked at the ceiling, holding her chin with the thumb and the index finger of her right hand. "Now that is what can be called a business mind. He sees an opportunity and captures it."  
  
Dylan stopped eating. _Our people in the Middle East... what are they like? Perhaps we can understand each other. Maybe fighting is their way to vent out frustration. I wonder... how would they react if somebody told them about video games? I think Mat wouldn't mind if I let them play with his console..._  
  
"Dylan?" His mother stopped talking about Mr. James' exploits while Dylan drove into the land of his thoughts. " Is everything alright?"  
  
"Y-yeah, I'm fine." He quickly smiled, hoping she would return to bragging about Bella's father. "I was just wondering... what kind of an adventure will Bella and I participate in tomorrow? Today we passed the red light, insulted a clown and almost ran a girl over. Fun stuff, right?"  
  
No reply from Mrs. Harris. She was staring at her son, and he felt like she considered him an alien. Father looks even more surprised, but perhaps that was because of the overly cheerful manner in which Dylan described Bella's atrocities.  
  
"I-I'm sorry..." He lowered his head and went back to eating suppon. _Now she's going to jeer me again...  
  
_ Against his expectations, however, the woman simply returned to her meal. She closed her eyes, giving her face a stone-cold expression of American apathy. The rest of the lunch went without any further talks.  
  
* * *  
  
The night before the next day Dylan didn't meet his older version. The boy wondered if that man was plotting something, but quickly brushed it off in favor of a more positive thinking. After brushing his teeth and washing his face he decided to call Bella.  
  
"Hello?" The girl on the other side of the line sounded surprised. "What's the matter, Dylly? It's not like you to call me out the blue like that."  
  
"I just wanted to ask what you were planning to do after today's school." Dylan sounded cheerful, maybe a bit too much. "Warn me so that I can get ready for it and stuff."  
  
"Well, uh..." Bella stretched out the last word. "I think we'll start with a ride to the cinema. After that? We'll see."  
  
"Sounds good enough for me! Already looking forward to it!"  
  
"Dylly, it seems you've changed. I don't know what crap you started to smoke, but I don't care. I love you more than I did before."  
  
"Oh wow, thanks." Dylan blushed.  
  
"No problem. Bye-bye."  
  
The call ended. After eating his breakfast, Dylan packed his stuff and went towards the school building. That Monday was quite windy, but fortunately for the boy, the weather was pushing him in the right direction. He felt like a pair of wings grew on his back. And it was all because of a few scraps of metal, a piece of plastic and a wide pound of blood.  
  
The wind slowed down on him, however, when he noticed a police car going in the opposite direction. It left his sight quick, but the impact that encounter left lasted until the end of the day. For a few seconds Dylan saw a boy who looked an awful lot like Spider One of Powerman 5000, but his hair was brown, and he had bags under his eyes.  
  
Dylan's wide open eyes froze once he realized who that person was. _Frank Bristow? What is he doing in the police car?_ The boy tried to dig into his memory and look for any misconducts. _Nothing. Bristow has always been the top student of our class. Everyone looked up to him, even me. So how come they had to take him away?_  
  
Assuming Mat had the answer, Dylan went back on his way and started to run. A few minutes of jogging later he crashed into a boy dressed in a white shirt and black pants. They both fell on the ground, with Dylan landing on his spine and the stranger landing on his face. Pretty soon they got on their knees, and the stranger turned around.  
  
"Mat?!" Dylan's chest suddenly started to warm up. "Oh man, I'm sorry! Are you alright?!"  
  
Mat sighed. "Eh, could've been worse." He got back on his feet, rubbing his nose in the process. "Don't worry, I ain't gonna have to visit the surgeon."  
  
Dylan chuckled nervously. "Jokes on you, I saw a classmate of mine in the police car on the way here."  
  
"Really?" Mat looked at his friend. The lower right eyelid of his jumped. "Who was it?"  
  
Dylan took a deep breath. "Frank Bristow, THE best student in my class. All A's, the teacher's favourite, a good friend of just about everyone in my class, except me. You know how I am with people." Dylan looked lower right then back at Mat. "Anyway, while I was trying to get there as soon as possible, I saw him. Arrested."  
  
Mat scratched the back of his head. "Well, that's some way to start one's day." He paused and added, "I'm sorry, but if you hope to find the answer written on my face, then I must disappoint you. It's clean. I double checked it."  
  
Dylan sighed. "Damn..." He considered trying to ask his classmates, but part of him believed they were just as clueless.  
  
"I know. Anyway, let's go. I know you're upset, but if we're late, you'll be even more upset."  
  
"I guess... you're right."  
  
Mat chuckled. "The way you said it... it's just like when we first met."  
  
Dylan didn't laugh.  
  
* * *  
  
When he got back home, the first thing he noticed were the security cameras — one over the front door and one over each window. Mrs. Harris was standing on the sidewalk near the house, and the moment she turned 90 degrees their eyes met.  
  
"Mom?" Dylan gave the camera over the entrance a worried look. "What are those cameras doing here?"  
  
"Safety measures." She turned her apathetic sight at the same device. "Do you happen to know Frank Bristow?"  
  
Dylan was surprised to hear that name from her, but he didn't show it. "Y-yeah, kinda. He was the best student in our class, and you would often compare me to him."  
  
"Well, last night, he murdered his parents." She sounded nonchalantly cold. "Shame, as he had such a bright future ahead of him. Trust me, when I see a person, I know if they have potential to be any good."  
  
He didn't hear the last two sentences. The second he was notified of his classmate's misdeed, an image of Frank Bristow went through his mind. The boy, that role model of a student, was standing on a piece of ground surrounded by the vast black space with his face down. And then he turned his vision up, and bloodstains started appearing on him. Once he became dirty enough, his skin started to turn... green. Frank let out a loud roar as he prepared to jump and—  
  
"What...?" Dylan brought himself back to reality before Bristow could do anything.  
  
"Excuse me?" Mrs. Harris looked at her son.  
  
"What did policemen say about Frank? Why did this happen?"  
  
His mother sighed. "It is unclear. They failed to find anything in his house. There were no drugs, no CDs with aggressive music, no forbidden books, nothing." She took a look around and added, "Perhaps he fell victim to a bad influence of some of his classmates. I am sure you were not involved, but I cannot speak for everyone else. They could have tempted him to try any of that disgusting stuff."  
  
"Are you, uh, familiar with his parents? I mean, what were they like before they died?"  
  
"They were both members of the movement against all forms of violent media. Perhaps they found out that their son was watching Hobo With a Shotgun or some other piece of disgraceful trash." She snorted, and Dylan could clearly feel her disgust. "Naturally, he retaliated because that is what 'freedom fighters' are supposed to do."  
  
Dylan lowered his head. "I see..."  
  
"In short, I wanted to protect you from the filth of peasants, which is why I ordered all those cameras." Mrs. Harris arrogantly tilted her head. "Once again, Mr. James gave me a hand. He told me of a reliable supplier and even offered enough money to cover the entire base."  
  
"Have you installed the cameras inside?"  
  
"Naturally. However, we have not installed them in your room yet. Given how well you have behaved so far, I believe it will not be necessary." She crossed her arms on her chest. "However, if I catch you in the act, consider your privacy terminated. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
Dylan sighed. "Perfectly."  
  
"Good. Now, I would like you to—"  
  
"Heyo, Dylly!" Bella drove onto the scene on her Honda. This time her player had Disturbed's _Who_ on. David Draiman was asking Dylan and his mother who the fuck they were. "Well, what the hell are you standing here for? Didn't you say you were up for a ride?"  
  
"Of course I said that! And I... I ain't taking my words back!" Dylan turned to face his mother. He felt like he was about to start shaking. "Mom, I'm sorry, but your assignment will have to wait."  
  
"Oh, I do not mind." Once again, Mrs. Harris' ice melted the moment the young James entered her sight. "Go and have fun, you two!"  
  
"Understood!" Dylan turned vision back at Bella, and the next second he was sitting behind her. "Oh, I almost forgot! Bella, which movie is it?!"  
  
" _Me Before You_!" She sounded excited. "I read that it got mixed reviews because of some disability rights movement shiteaters! I wanna see what all the fuss is about!"  
  
"Great idea!" Dylan surprised himself by how cheerful he sounded. Perhaps he anticipated the session to be a disaster, but that didn't bother him because of Mat's console under his bed.  
  
"Well, there we go!" Bella pressed the pedal, leaving behind nothing but dust.  
  
* * *  
  
"Yaahoo! Now that's the finale! Too bad the cattle ruined the rating! Oh well, it's not like those numbers matter anyway." Bella stretched her triceps. "Am I right?"  
  
Dylan gave her a nervous look. "N-naturally!" He crossed his arms on his chest, trying to look cool. "As the old saying goes, 'Don't like, don't read!' I'm not sure why those activists needed to stir things up."  
  
"Dylly, I don't remember having so much fun with you before. Tell me, what's the secret?"  
  
Dylan took a deep breath. _That's it, I will do this thing._ He looked at Bella. "Bella, you were wrong about the boy who called me that day. Everything that happened to me, my change for the better — that wouldn't be possible without Mat Mathers. And while I'm at it, he's not my classmate. We just share the same school."  
  
"Hmph, I wouldn't care if he was your friend from the other building." Bella gave him a menacing look. "So you were talking to him even though I didn't approve that."  
  
"Come on, just hear me out! He's better than you think he is!" Dylan clenched his fists. No turning back now. "He taught me to be more patient, and that's exactly why I was able to... should I say, become a better man for you. You said it yourself. Today and yesterday were just great! How about you give him one more chance?"  
  
Bella assumed a pensive pose, leaving Dylan breathing after an emotional talk. Finally, she broke the silence with a loud sigh. "Fine, you do have a point. Maybe I was wrong about him."  
  
"Look, he was angry the other day. Something must have happened in his personal life." The boy felt like the finishing blow was yet to be delivered. "Haven't something similar ever happened to you? If so, then speak! I'll be there to listen!"  
  
Bella's eyes opened wider. And then she started to laugh like the Demoman from FinHeavich's _FailFort_. It took her a while to cool down. "Oh man, you're killing me! Is this also something that Mat guy taught you?"  
  
"Y-yeah." Dylan didn't know what to think of her reaction, but she was happy, so he kept silent.  
  
"Alright, you won! If that dude of yours is so useful, then sure, you have my blessing."  
  
"R-really? Thank you very much, Bella!"  
  
"Yeah, sure." Her voice became quieter and closer to monotone. "Yeah... sure..."  
  
* * *  
  
Once Dylan got back home, he ate his dinner — some other expensive Japanese dish he didn't like — and went to his room. A short session in _Green Menace_ removed the stress he felt over the fate of Will Traynor and people Bella and he almost hit on the way from the cinema. After that he only had to deal with homework, but that didn't bother him one bit.  
  
Days went by, Bella was growing pleased with the new Dylan. Every day they would visit different places, watch different movies and cross different roads. And the boy showed no signs of worry for his fate. Inside he was thanking Mat after each chapter of their misadventures. No matter how much havoc Bella was wrecking, Dylan knew that one level of Green Menace would take everything bad away from his head.  
  
And so a month passed without any incidents...  
  
* * *  
  
Dylan returned home with a heavy breathing and sweating forehead. Today's date was especially busy — the two of them went for a street ride, then the boy was forced to join Bella in a local game corner, followed by a visit to the cinema to watch some cheap thriller.  
  
On the way home Bella's Honda accidentally hit a car, losing some of its gleam. A verbal fight between the girl and the driver of the damaged auto left the former in what Dylan could rightfully call a sour mood. And to top it all off, his attempts to make her feel better didn't work.  
  
So the young Harris, the future of his family, felt disturbed. A laugh of Dylan Senior echoed in his head as he prepared Mat's console for today's _Green Menace_ session. Angry, he was holding the gamepad harder than usual. At first he was shooting the mutants — or Bellas, as he saw them, — at his usual pace, but the more he thought about today's disastrous date, the harder he found it to focus.  
  
 _Why did that guy have to put his car on our way...? Why did that bad person have to stand in our path? Why did that motherfucker have to block our way with his piece of shit car?! Why?!_ Dylan started to shake. _Everything was going just fine!_  
  
He clenched his teeth, and by that point he ran out of bullets. Too busy ranting, he forgot to change the weapon, and the boss of the mutants killed him. "Oh yeah?! TAKE THIS!" Dylan threw the gamepad at his monitor, making a huge hole in it.  
  
"Dylan? What is happening?" Mrs. Harris voice sounded blurred.  
  
"How do you like that, you selfish bitch?!" Dylan pointed at the broken screen. "Not so hot now, huh?!"  
  
A minute later his mother opened the door. By then the boy managed to cool down a little bit, only to open his eyes wider once he realized what he had done. "M-mom...?"  
  
Mrs. Harris grabbed her sides. "Well, well, well..."  
  
Dylan gave Mat's console a quick look. "I-I can explain..."  
  
"There is nothing you can tell me, you little liar." She sounded even colder than when they were talking about security cameras. "I knew you were hiding something from me. And there it is! A video game! Why else would you break the monitor we paid a fortune for?"  
  
Silence on Dylan's part. At that moment Bella entered the room. "Yo, I heard a crack of a broken plastic and... wow." She looked into Dylan's eyes, and then both of them turned their vision at his broken monitor. "What the fuck happened here?"  
  
"This little lying brat has been playing video games while I was not looking!" Mrs. Harris gave both of them an angry look. "And you can see where that got him! Right here! The proof is right here!" Her face turned fanatic as she pointed at the broken monitor.  
  
"This is... that's just..." Dylan felt incredibly stupid and scared out of his mind simultaneously. The sight of his mother told him this couldn't get any worse.  
  
"If you do not get rid of this trash by tomorrow, I will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently! Understood?!"  
  
"Y-yes..."  
  
"Good!" Mrs. Harris was quick to leave the room and slam the door shut, leaving Dylan and Bella alone. A second later the young Harris got on his knees and started crying. He regretted going out of control and blowing his cover. He regretted lying to his own mother. He regretted getting into the whole affair in the first place.  
  
Finally, when he ran out of tears, he saw that Bella was still in the room, looking quite disturbed. She was the first to speak. "Dylly... explain yourself." She grabbed her sides and tilted her head the same way his mother would.  
  
"Well— _sniff_ —in short, that Mat Mathers I told you about gave me a video game. A shooter, to be exact." He paused to take a few breaths and then went on, "He believed I was under a lot of stress due to our dates and my mother's strict treatment. So he offered me a way to vent that stuff out."  
  
"I see... "  
  
"So far I've been able to keep quiet about it, letting the two of us have fun together. But today was just too stressful, and I... well, you know."  
  
Bella's eyes opened wider. "Oh, I get it now."  
  
"Yes, I admit, I fucked up, but I can change, trust me." Dylan stood up. "Just ask your father for a new monitor, and we will be able to keep having fun. I'm sure it won't be hard for you to convince my mother to change her mind."  
  
Miss James chuckled, but it quickly evolved into a loud laughter.  
  
Dylan stared at her. "What's so funny...?"  
  
Bella stopped laughing. "Your attempts to boss me around, that's what!" She sounded both happy and angry at the same time. "Don't be so full of yourself, yo! While I agree that this game of yours made you more... entertaining, it also seems to have inflated your ego. Think you can just use my money whenever you please?"  
  
Dylan's hands began to shake. "W-why you little...?"  
  
"Oh yeah, like that. Cuss at me, and your ass will head straight to the fucking bars." Bella rolled her eyes. "You're right, the last month was helluva lot of fun, but you know what? I can make up for whatever you may have lost because of your outburst."  
  
Dylan lowered his head, feeling needless. "P-please, don't say anything else..." Dylan Senior's sinister grin went through his mind.  
  
"Screw it, I can say what I want!" She tilted her head. "But fine, this one will be my last before I leave this shack of yours." She puffed out her chest. "I never cared for your well-being in the first place. I didn't need a happy slave. I needed a spineless worm like you to do everything I say without EVER talking back. I loved you, Dylan, I really did, but you disappointed me."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Well, I'm leaving now. Be grateful I'm not asking for any refunds." Bella turned to leave. "So long, suckers!"  
  
* * *  
  
Dylan couldn't sleep. His half-closed eyes were staring into the white ceiling of his room. The palm of his right hand was facing that side of his cuboid of a room. The blanket was barely covering his almost naked body.  
  
This passive picture was the total opposite of what was going on inside Dylan's head. That vicious adult version of him was laughing. Laughing to his face. The poor boy could see the triangles of his teeth as well as stems of saliva. This time that monster was accompanied by the hound — the bitch managed to dig its away from its grave. Now that beast was barking like a guard dog that found an intruder.  
  
After a few minutes of that stream of laughter and barks, both of the creatures went silent. Dylan and Dylan Senior were just staring at each other when the latter said, "Do it."  
  
The boy's body went live, he got out of the bed and dressed into his jacketless blazer. He then sneaked out of his room and headed to his father's bedroom. Quiet as a mouse—  
  
 _"And that's how he bought Newton Oil."_  
  
—he approached the drawer located right from Mr. Harris's bed and took—  
  
 _"At first I didn't believe him and asked, 'But didn't they have a large deal of shares? And you bought all of them?'"_  
  
—the keys from the basement. Upon leaving the room, Dylan carefully sneaked to the door, unlocked it and started walking down the stairs. Another door—  
  
 _"To both of my questions he replied 'Yes.' And that was it."_  
  
—stood on his way, but he quickly found a key to it. Once inside, he turned the lights one and became surrounded by shelves, boxes and drawers. Tools of all kinds were hanging on the walls, but Dylan didn't come here for them. He took a look around and noticed a table with a green soldier uniform.  
  
Dylan ran up to it, quickly opened the drawer and saw—  
  
 _"I have also heard he donated ten million dollars in Klebold's Arms. I believe he plans to support our soldiers in the Middle East just so they bring him local oil wells."_  
  
—a Glock 17M and a few magazines. Under them were Mr. Harris' photographs. The man was standing in front of a bloody battlefield and smiling. _I guess I was right. Those things really are used to deal with stress..._  
  
He loaded the gun, put it into his pocket, turned the lights off, climbed up the stairs and headed to his mother's room. He kicked in the door, waking the woman up.  
  
"Wh-what...?" She opened her eyes to meet Dylan's. "What are you doing here, brat! Head back to your bed this instant!"  
  
He grabbed his father's gun while still hiding it. Nothing came out of his mouth when Mrs. Harris started getting out of her bed. Once she got on her feet, Dylan reveal his weapon, and the left hand joined the right one. His mother froze in place.  
  
"I'm sorry it came to this point." His voice sounded lower than usual. "Hell is calling, Kimberley Harris. Tell Mr. and Mrs. Bristow I said 'Hi.'" And then Dylan shot her, his greedy mother, right in the nose. Her body fell on the floor, and the boy walked up to it. "Weird... her body was supposed to blow into pieces of flesh..." He started shooting her head, and when it turned into a crimson porridge, he went for her limbs.  
  
He ran out of bullets when he heard loud footsteps. Dylan turned around and saw his father. The man looked dumbfounded. "Dylan, are you okay?! I heard someone shooting!"  
  
"Father... I won..." Dylan smiled with his eyes still half-closed. "I killed the queen of mutants..."  
  
"What are you"—Mr. Harris stopped talking. The boy realized his father saw **her** barely recognizable body.  
  
"Bella wasn't the real boss. Kimberley Harris was. She was behind many and many atrocities those green creatures committed." He sounded cheerful. "But don't worry, she's dead now. Her reign is over."  
  
No reply from Mr. Harris. With eyes wide open he was looking into the abyss his son's eyes became by this point.  
  
"My mission is over... farewell..." Dylan pointed the Glock at his head. Before he could pull the thing, his father knocked him down, making him drop the biscuit.  
  
The man desperately looked into the boy's eyes. "Dylan! Snap out of it!"  
  
Dylan's head hit the floor, causing Dylan Senior and the dog to shut up. He quickly got up on his feet, took a look around and fell on his knees. Daddy hugged him when he started to scream and cry.  
  
* * *  
  
"Dear Mister Mathers,  
  
Last night Dylan found my gun and murdered my wife Kimberley. When I got there, her body became unidentifiable. I managed to stop his rampage, but now he's got to face a prison term for what happened.  
I know you're probably going to blame yourself for what happened, but please don't. Dylan's downfall is something I saw coming. As much as I may have loved my wife, I knew she wasn't perfect. She kept abusing the poor boy, and I was too scared to do anything about it. Such a horrible father, huh...? I think I finally grew a spine. Too bad it happened too late, though.  
I failed to help Dylan when he may have needed me most. I understand that Dylan has been a broken boy. If only I had done something, anything to get him from under her wing, he wouldn't have ended up in a situation like this.  
Here's your console. Keep it hidden. Don't repeat the same mistake that my son did. If the anti-violent media movement finds out about it, there will be more kids like Dylan. Neither of us would want that, right?  
One last thing. If you decide to meet Dylan, be gentle with him. After all the rough stuff he went through, love and understanding is what he needs. Remember that when you approach him, okay?  
I hope your day is better than mine.  
  


Truly yours,  
Sean Harris"

  
* * *  
  
(Young_MaMa entered the chat)  
  
Young_MaMa: I hate my life...  
  
Miss_M: Why? What happened?  
  
Young_MaMa: Eh, nothing. Dylan's in jail, his mom's dead, and that bitch Bella is still free to do whatever she wants.  
  
Miss_M: . . .  
  
BS: Shit, man...  
  
Sam_The_Ox: Hold the damn phone! Dylan's in jail?  
  
Young_MaMa: Yes!  
  
Young_MaMa: And guess what! He's the one who murdered his mother!  
  
Young_MaMa: HE SHOT HER IN THE FUCKING HEAD, MAN!  
  
Miss_M: I'm gonna puke...  
  
BS: Same...  
  
Sam_The_Ox: What a way to start one's day, huh?  
  
Sam_The_Ox: Speaking of which, how did you find out about it?  
  
Young_MaMa: Dylan's dad returned my console. He called me last night and secretly gave it back to me in an orange plastic bag.  
  
Young_MaMa: He attached a letter to it. Everything he wanted me to know is right here, on this paper.  
  
BS: I guess, and I'm being serious right now, that Mrs. Harris turned out to be a bad mother.  
  
Young_MaMa: Yup. Even Mr. Harris said he couldn't stomach her abuse of Dylan.  
  
Miss_M: So, what are you going to do now?  
  
Young_MaMa: What the man asked me. To keep that console hidden from people like my mother. Like he said, if the movement Carol loves to complain about finds out the truth behind Mrs. Harris' death, new psychos will arise.  
  
Young_MaMa: As for Dylan...  
  
Young_MaMa: I definitely will pay him a visit one day.  
  
Young_MaMa: I wanna look into his eyes. Hope there's still some light in them.  
  
(Young_MaMa left the chat)  
  
 ** _THE END_**


End file.
